Amaranthine
by Silverneko9lives0
Summary: Severus Snape has a secret wish...and a secret admirer. HBP-verse, AU
1. Chapter 1

_**Amaranthine**_

_Severus Snape has a secret wish…and a secret admirer. Snarry, some OOC, HBP-verse_

Chapter 1

The door opened. Students spilled into the room and took their seats, laughing, shouting, and rustling. I wait for the clock to let me know it was officially time to start class. On the hour, I close the door with a loud bang. Complete silence. Complete attention. I head to the front of the room and begin the first lesson of the new term with the Gryffindor-Slytherin sixth year class.

At least with the sixth and seventh years, you have the cream of the crop in this miserable school. I did so when I taught potions. I have done so now that I teach Defense.

And I see that while some were less than extraordinary in potions, those same some excelled in Defense. I hope they aren't trigger happy…Potter could be. I glance at him.

Black hair that really needs to see a pair of shears, wiry round glasses, emerald-green eyes, the unmistakable scar…

Yep. Potter the Second.

From year one to now…no words can describe how much trouble that kid's put me through. Almost getting bucked off his broom, getting hospitalized only Merlin knows how many times, his blasted fainting spells (not that I have a right to talk, I had a similar problem with the Dementors, though I never felt so awful I actually _did_ keel over)—the list goes on. I can't say how many times I almost died in the process of keeping him safe.

Most of which I had done reluctantly.

Until quite recently.

It'd be a lie to say he didn't grow on me over the years.

Though I kept up the pretense of being the evil teacher—wouldn't want the kid to think I liked him even if just a little—it was more a way for me to see how far I can push him.

_How far can I push him until his temper gives way?_

I asked myself that question several times since his fourth year, now that I think about it.

Actually, I'm starting to wonder why I dare to try pushing him to the limit of his calm. Last year, he was a short fuse which was fun for me.

For some reason I cannot explain I get a kick out of seeing him angry.

Class ended and I sent them on their way. My eyes are on Potter's back as he walks away with his posse, Granger and Weasley. Not that he'd ever call them such, but I feel they are less his friends than he believes.

After all, what were Pettigrew, Lupin, and Black to James Potter? I doubted the clout even knew what a friend really was.

Harry Potter is much different from his father. He's nothing like either parent, save for his sense of adventure and physical appearance.

I lean back in the chair behind my desk and sigh.

Why am I so obsessed with seeing Potter angry? Hell, when did I start to enjoy seeing the kid?

I stand, deciding to get a cup of tea. I step out my door and scream, slipping in a puddle outside my classroom door. A stream of water pours over my head.

"PEEVES!" I shout.

The confounded poltergeist cackles and runs off.

One of these days I'll get rid of that blasted ghost!

Of course every teacher thinks so at some time. Then Peeves pranks a particularly nasty student and it's fun not to laugh at said student, so it's all good.

It's a never-ending circle.

I stand back up, vanish the puddle and dry my robes. Not that it didn't seep through. I won't tell you which areas still feel wet, but it allowed my clothes to rub my skin in some awful ways.

I go to the kitchen and tickle the pair, desperately needing some tea if not anything else. Chamomile sounds good.

I step inside and order tea to go.

"Snape, what are you doing here?"

I look at Potter and sneer. "That's _Professor_ Snape, Potter. Five points for disrespect."

Potter shrugged. "You don't scare me anymore, _Professor_, so take as many points as you like."

"Why are you here?"

"Where else are you going to go to get a sandwich made on demand without setting off any alarms?" he asks.

I nod my head, raising the cup to my lips. "Fair enough."

"I'd ask Hermione, but…" he bites into his sandwich. "Well, she isn't likely to—"

"Potter, will you not eat with your mouth full?" I ask, wrinkling my nose. "Are you a Weasley and no one ever realized it?"

He swallows. "Sorry. Ron has a habit of rubbing his bad habits off on you."

That's a bad excuse if any, but I don't call him out on it. From his own smirk, I can guess he intended to disgust me.

Cheeky brat.

I take another drink of tea. "I'll leave you to your sandwich, Potter."

"Bye, Snape."

"That's another five points on your head, Boy," I say, closing the door behind me.

Really: is it so hard for him to have a little respect for his teacher?

He seems to have adjusted over the last few months since summer and the beginning of the new school year. That will make my past time of riling him a little more difficult. I'll need to take on some new tactics in that case.

Well, I've got patience, even if time is running out.

Entering my room again, I collapse in the seat and begin to grade today's stack of essays which, in all honesty, I do not want to do.

But then again, who does like grading homework? It's as tedious as doing the real assignment.

However, it won't do itself, no matter how much I wish it would.

#

"How nice of you to join us tonight, Severus," Albus greeted as I entered the hall and slumped in my spot at the teacher's table. "We just reached into the STC and pulled out an interesting rendition of Mr. Tolkein's _The Hobbit_. The director, it seems, is dividing it into three parts and I've gotten my paws on the first part, titled _An Unexpected Journey_."

I sit up and look at him. The STC? Again?

(The STC, or the Space-Time Continuum, is a wormhole that allows us to jump a few years in either direction. It's under the school beneath the dungeons. No one but the teachers know about it and it seems to not construe the natural order of things. Most headmasters won't allow anyone near it. But then again, Dumbledore isn't like most headmasters, is he? You can't fit your whole self in though. All you can do is reach in and see what you get. Once I got Joan of Arc's gauntlet.)

"_The Hobbit_?"

"I thought that'd catch your attention."

Yes, I am a fan. Shoot me.

"It will not be out until 2013…"

"Albus, stop goading him," Minerva snapped. I turn back to the headmaster, glaring. I want to see it.

"Can I…"

"I think it'd be wise if Harry resumed occlumency," he said, peeling an orange.

"Albus!"

Shit! It's a bribe!

I turn away, quite disappointed. Not that I wouldn't like to spend time with Potter, but the last time I tried to teach him occlumency, I also got a few buttons pushed until my top blew up after he saw…

Let's just say I don't want something like that getting out. Normally, I probably would have thought it a little ingenious. Not the point of the lesson, but not bad.

But he saw…_that._

It's one of many bad memories, though still rather bad even for bad. Not that I want anyone to know about it, but…

Well…

"Headmaster, I will do anything but that."

Albus smiles, his eyes twinkling. "And I thought you'd like to see _The Hobbit_, Severus."

"I do. I really, really do. But I won't teach Potter occlumency again. The last time was a disaster."

"Well, I suppose the time wasn't ideal, but as we are not under the ministry's hand anymore, I thought it'd be good to take another crack at it."

"Anything but teach him occlumency again. _Please_!"

"Says the one who was willing to wear pink if it meant owning _the Lord of the Rings_ movies when Sybil managed to get them two years ago," Minerva muttered. I had actually charmed my clothes and hair pink on Sybil's demand. That's how bad I wanted them. She was too shocked not to fork them over.

"They were special edition!" I hissed. "It was necessary!" I wasn't lying when I said that I'm a hard-core Ringer. I've been a fan since I got the books from Lily's dad before we started school at Hogwarts. (Granted it did take a little time to get used to the style, but then the 70's movies came out and I read them again in fourth year and…well, you get the idea. Love at first sentence.)

"Ask me again when a special edition of all three _Hobbit_ movies are plucked out. I'm not—"

"Well, then I could watch it alone," Albus said, finishing his orange. "And I'm afraid I might spoil it for others…you know my memory."

"Old Man, if you give out spoilers, I will wring your neck."

"I might forget that threat, you know. After all, Severus, I am an old man."

Shit. Dumbledore grins.

I look over at Potter at the Gryffindor Table.

"Fine."

"Excellent. I'll give you the movie once Harry masters occlumency."

"Burn in Mount Doom, Dumbledore," I mutter.

Minerva overhears and slaps my head. A few first years, who were watching us interestedly, giggle. I make a note to take points from Hufflepuff next time I had class with them.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

On Friday after dinner, Potter entered my classroom, downcast.

I understand completely. I don't want to resume these lessons any more than he does. It's pointless to adopt impassivity, so with a flick of my wand, the door closes.

He sets his bag down against the wall and waits for me.

"Potter."

"Snape."

I don't harp on his disregard of addressing me appropriately. It'd be pointless. Insults will fly. Veins will pop. Spells will be cast.

It is going to be hell on earth.

I sigh.

"I don't like this any more than you do, but…" _Albus bloody Dumbledore_ _bribed me and I really would like to get my hands on what he's offering._ "The headmaster put in a special request that we…try again. With that in mind, I think a different approach will be necessary."

"Yes Sir."

That's better.

"I trust you remember what occlumency is."

"I do."

"All right. Today, we will not…attempt at any spell work. Instead, I'm sending you to the library. I want a five foot essay on my desk with a works cited to be given next week."

"FIVE FEET?!"

"Potter, that's not that bad. Do some research and write me the damn essay."

"_Five feet _isn't bad to you because _you're assigning it_! I've mountains of other homework to do!"

He's on the urge of strangling me. His hands are curling and uncurling. He's teeth are gnashing. His eyes are flashing.

I resist the urge to smirk.

"It's not as though you have copious amounts of detention on top of everything this year, Potter. I'm letting you use this hour to begin your research and select the best sources."

"I've enough to do without you shoving more homework down my throat!"

"Five feet isn't that bad, you brat!" I snap. "Think of it this way: You've a day for research, five days for five feet of parchment, and another foot for your works cited. _It's not that bad_."

"You…"

"Get your ass to the library."

"You know what? Screw you!" he seizes his bag and marches out.

I'm a little taken aback that he actually dared to swear at me. A little impressed, but still.

I poke my head out the door. "Potter!"

"What?!" he yelled back.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor. And detention." He flips me off. To be honest, I'm having a lot of fun. More than I probably should. "That's another ten points and another detention."

"You a—"

"I wouldn't finish that thought unless you want a whole week of detention."

"I BLOODY HATE YOU!"

I close the door.

"Like I care," I mutter.

However, I do care.

Why do I care?

#

I don't understand why what Potter's verbal confirmation would bother me so much. It's probably because I've given the brat a lot of my time in and out of class whether he knew it or not.

That must be why.

And he's my enemy's son, to boot. And my best friend's son, but that tends to be overlooked a little more often than not when I think about it.

Saturday night, I'm grading some more badly written essays that make my eyes want to bleed.

"WEASLEYS!"

I look up, startled. I remove my reading glasses (which I never needed until recently when my eyesight began to go bad. I conjectured it was from all the reading I do and from years of brewing potions without eyewear.)

I stand and go to the second corridor.

"Argh!" I groan, covering my nose.

Filch has already plugged it with a swimmer's nose plug. He turns to me, but I'm already running out of the corridor for fresh air.

"Bloody hell! What is that odious stench?!" Minerva shrieked.

I cast a bubble charm on myself and return. "I believe, Minerva, that is a dung bomb."

"Id waz thoze Weedsly dwinz!" Filch shrieked. "Adgain!"

"I'm sorry Argus, but…have you any proof?" Minerva asks.

I fight down a smile.

"I don't need proove, who elze could id have been?"

"Peeves, perhaps."

"Peeves doezn't uze dung bombs! Do zomeding adbout thiz! Can't you or zomeone elze ad leazd get rid of de zdench?"

"Flitwick might be able to," I suggest.

"I will get him, then," she said, running. I return to my chambers.

Now, Minerva and I could easily get rid of the stench on our own. It wasn't that we couldn't do something about it. We just didn't want to.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Ladies and Gentlewizards: the one school on earth where teachers do not actually give a rat's ass about pranks. We just look like we do. If they get out of hand, we'll do something about it.

But most of the time, our answer is, "eh, nah."

We see it as the student's practicing. Like they should be.

Filch screeches for me. It seems Flitwick passed the task to me. I will get the little man for this! Big little man, I mean. Flitwick could take me on and knock me on my ass if he chose without a second thought.

#

Why the hell would Potter's hatred of me, which I am fully aware of without him shouting the very words around, disturb me so much?

Monday passed.

Then it was Tuesday.

On Wednesday, Potter and his friends walked in the room and sat down in their usual spots.

I glance at my lesson plan for them: blocking and shield defenses.

Short lecture, pair them up, start a war in the classroom and try to manage complete chaos for an hour.

"Today, we will be reviewing defensive spells," I begin. My eyes hit Potter. He's staring at me. I pause. What am I waiting for?

I look away.

"I already expect you've learned these spells. Get into groups of two, one Gryffindor and one Slytherin," there's a collective groan, "in five minutes and begin a duel. Minor hexes and jinxes only! Malfoy! I mean that!" I snap at him.

Malfoy pouts, but nods his head. Sadistic little whelp.

I've been trying. I really have. His father's as much a menace as he and it seems it might be too late to teach him proper respect.

He and Potter lock eyes. There's one group.

Others are still forming groups. Five minutes pass and after another minute, the dueling begins.

But my eyes don't wander the room. I'm locked on Potter and Malfoy.

Malfoy's decent enough to get in the class, so I know he's good, but his footing…needs work.

Potter, on the other hand, is excellent. Form, casting, footwork—much different from the clumsy twelve-year-old I knew from Lockhart's disastrous dueling club.

I should know. I was there solely for the sake of knocking Lockhart on his ass. It was quite satisfying.

That day, I was the most popular teacher among the male student population for sure. But never again.

I haven't really seen him duel after that, though it's clear he was in several duels since. Probably when he went on his suicidal missions or was whisked away by Voldemort.

Potter's eyes are fixed on his opponent. They aren't filled with loathing for Malfoy, but focused. He anticipates Malfoy's next move, blocks, then attacks, putting enough force to do some damage, but not so much that it breaks through Malfoy's shield.

He knows where he is. He knows what he is doing.

Fingers curled around his wand as he waves in the proper motions to block or attack, all perfectly executed.

Potter's undeniably auror material…pity he isn't as good at potions as he could be. He'd make a good auror. Well, he is in Potions class with Slughorn, so he can easily become an auror if that is his choice.

The bell rings, signifying the end of class. I call for a halt and dismiss them.

They leave, breathing heavily and labored, for their next class, whatever that may be.

I have an hour of freedom before I take on the first years.

So I head to my bedroom and jump into the shower, letting ice cold water drench me.

Ah.

I understand now.

Everything from my treatment of him to his bothering words makes sense.

I'm so fucked.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Potter hands the scroll to me before putting his bag against the wall.

"Will there be more essays?"

"No," I say as my fingers unroll it. "From here on, I want you to focus on clearing your mind every night before bed. Today, I we will go over a few things you can do to help with that."

"Like what?"

I look up from his essay to stare at him. "Mostly they are various forms of meditation."

"Like the Buddhist monks?"

I nod. "That is one way, but there are many. Hindus use Yoga. The Abrahamic religions, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, prefer prayer. Others take up journaling or exercise. Some nap."

Potter snickers.

"You will not be napping as you are about to go to bed. The point of meditation to is to let go of any pent up stress you have and when you do, build defense in your mind. Anything that calms you is good. Some use a wall or a curtain. Others use a dark room. It can vary from person to person."

"Okay. So…"

"So which would you prefer?"

"I don't know."

I conjure some pillows. "Lie down on those. You can, if you like, close your eyes. Focus only on breathing. Nothing else. Not what you had for lunch. Not something your friends said or I said. Not anything."

Potter blinks, confused. "And you?"

I hold up his essay. "I will be looking at this. Now get."

He lays down on the pillows, hands clasped over his stomach. His chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm. Up…down. In…out.

I read through the essay, scanning it. I'll count it as extra credit for Defense class.

Well, it's fairly good, if a little illegible. I'm used to his writing so I follow it well enough.

I glance at him.

In…out…in…out…in…out.

I swallow. Classes during the day are safe. Very safe.

But here, I am alone with him—alone with my desire for him. I should be fine, but for how long?

I can keep telling myself it's for _The Hobbit_ movie in Dumbledore's possession. I can keep up that pretense. Besides, the lessons are only one day a week.

"Potter?"

"Hmm?"

"How are you doing?"

"Mm…"

"Don't fall asleep."

"M'kay."

Of all the stupid…his defenses are down!

I cast a tickling charm on him. He screeches and I remove the spell. "What the fuck—"

"Potter, don't fall asleep."

"I heard you the first bloody time!" he shouted. His chest rose and fell.

"Let it go, Potter. I didn't curse you. I tickled you. It's not worth throwing a tantrum over."

He's shaking. I watch him. Will he calm down and return to his position on the pillow or will he do something he'll regret? Will he attack or will he let it go? What will he do?

He sits back down and lies on his back and disappointment settles in my chest. I wanted him to attack. I can't say why. Well, I actually can. But it's improper…inappropriate…

I look back at his essay.

His breathing steadies after a few minutes. He's calm again.

When the hour is over, I send him away.

"Don't forget you have detention tomorrow," I remind him and myself.

"Yes Sir."

The door closes behind him. I'm tempted to throw him to Filch but not enough to act on it.

The mark on my arm burns.

Perfect. Just great.

I stand and grab my death eater robes, pulling them over my shoulders. I cast a disillusionment charm on myself before exiting the classroom and walk to the exit. Filch is fast asleep, waiting for renegade students to try sneaking out of the castle.

I pass him without bothering him too much. I had to stun him once, last year. I couldn't help taking a little glee in that, as the fool had thought Umbridge was a godsend. The woman could have had his job as easily as she did mine or anyone else's.

I apparate to the meeting place and remove the charm on myself. There are only a few of us left in comparison.

The Lestranges, the Malfoys, Crabbe, Goyle, McNair, the Carrows, Pettigrew, Parkinson, Zabini, Yaxley—and myself.

There used to be more. And probably still is, but we here are those considered closest to him who had survived the years.

We grovel at his feet. I myself am choking back a lot of pride just by doing _this_ and kissing the hem of his robe. Do you know how dirty the hem of a robe actually is after a while? It's disgusting!

"Draco's progress?"

"He is working as fast as he can," I say. "The cabinet won't be ready for some time still."

"And his other task?"

"Dumbledore still lives, but not for much longer. He is old and it is only a matter of time before Draco succeeds."

Actually, he's only attempted once and it was foiled. He'll try again when he can.

But there is no need for Lord Stick-up-his-ass to know that.

Voldemort continues to talk about how it is important to kill Dumbledore so that he can kill Potter and so on. So forth. God damn, the man's ego is so huge! Who likes to hear themselves talk that much?!

Apparently narcissistic dark lords with deadly vipers.

Nagini slithers her tongue at me. I resist the urge to make a face at her in return.

What? If you think I'm mature, you're sadly mistaken. Men don't officially reach adulthood until…sixty? Seventy? I don't know.

Dumbledore's older than that and he doesn't seem like a mature adult to me. Does he to you?

"My lord, what news of our man in the ministry?" Parkinson asks.

Voldemort turns to him, fixing a cold stare on him. "Everything is on schedule as it should be. The ministry will be in our hands perhaps sooner than expected."

There are happy murmurs at this.

Do they not know what they are trying to do? They are thinking of creating anarchy and chaos under a dictator fueled with racism which he deems is power. He is a communist. I know they don't care, but if I were to explain the evils of such a thing…would they understand? Do they not understand that what they want is genocide?

No.

They don't. They are racist and even sexist. They believe they are superior because they are from a series of great and noble lines.

Noble my foot.

Degenerate and failing is more like it.

I hide whatever horror I have and whatever anger.

We are dismissed and I go back to Hogsmeade, casting a disillusionment charm on me again and returning to the castle.

I barely make it to the grounds. Instead, I fall off the path and hide behind a tree, trying to calm my shattered nerves.

It takes a lot of effort to keep up appearances when I'm actually horrified by what I hear and see. Terrified of what I must do.

There will be a raid soon.

I will not go.

Voldemort will understand if I do not. He believes me his man in Dumbledore's folds. He will believe, while also doubting, I am doing my work for him.

Composure regained, I continue to the castle. Filch is still asleep. Good.

I pass him and almost run to my chambers. I don't. I almost do. I stride instead, reciting Tolkien's walking song (In _the Fellowship of the Ring_. The movie rendition only used the last verse and not even the whole verse in _The Return of the King_. It's semi-disappointing):

"_Upon the hearth the fire is read, beneath the roof there is a bed; but not yet weary are our feet, still round the corner we may meet a sudden tree or standing stone that none have seen but we alone…_"

I told you I was a die hard Ringer, did I not?

"_Still round the corner there may wait a new road or a secret gate, and though we pass them by today, tomorrow we may come this way and take the hidden paths that run towards the Moon or to the Sun._"

I'm not yet at my room. I turn another corner. I can see my door.

"_Home is behind, the world ahead, and there are many paths to tread through shadows to the edge of night, until the stars are all alight. Then world behind and home ahead, we'll wander back to home and bed_."

I enter my chamber and close the door behind me. I remove the charm and discard the heavy robes.

I walk slowly to my bed upstairs. I enter the room, past the office, and into the bedroom. I collapse in an armchair, massaging my temple.

Though I am home, my heart is heavier than my eyelids.

Though my hearth is crackling with life, I feel cold.

And though blood pumps through my body, I feel dead.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Potter came to my office at seven o'clock Saturday night knocking right on the hour. I permit him entrance.

"Pail and mop," I say, motioning to them. "Filch has been cutting corners. He says it's his rheumatism," I add with a nasty smile. Filch doesn't have rheumatism.

What? He used to torture me along with everyone else when I was a student. He was younger and quicker but he's gotten nastier.

Besides, mopping counts as a typical detention task. Mostly, I had my students clean cauldrons and leech tanks. But that was when I was potions master.

Potter ignores me and picks up the mop, sloshing it around the bucket before splashing it on the floor, mopping up the tracks left by the students.

I catch myself staring and turn back to the homework I really should be grading.

_I cannot have him. He's my student. I cannot have him. He's my best friend's son. I cannot have him. He's underage. I cannot have him. I cannot have him. I cannot…_

I close my eyes, massaging my temple.

_I cannot have him, so what is the point in wanting him? _

I look up at Potter's back. He is so absorbed in his work he does not notice me staring at him.

Why the hell did I fall in love with him? When the hell did I fall in love with him?!

_Stop it, you fool! _

I return to the essays. Nothing. I can't concentrate. I set the one in my hands down and stand. Potter looks up.

"Keep working," I bark, striding out of the room. I walk down the hall, just pacing around, trying to take my mind off Potter in my room, concentrating on his task.

I could have taken advantage of the situation. I could have…I couldn't dare do it, though. My conscious would not allow it.

I lean against the wall, trying to calm down. Bloody hell, I'm going mad! The last time I was in love, it hurt more than I thought it should have. Now I am in love with my last love's son.

I cover my face. I have to regain composure.

An owl screeched at me, drawing my attention. He was one of the school owls and he held a letter out to me. I approached to make sure it was not confused. It was not. My name was on the envelope.

The tawny owl flew off back to the Owlery.

I opened the letter.

_Dear Professor, _

_Roses are red. Violets are blue. I want you to know I love you._

_Truly,_

_Your Secret Admirer_

There are no words for this…pathetic letter.

There's a PTO. I turn the letter over.

_I know it's sappy, but I didn't know what else to write._

That's more pathetic than the letter itself.

I look at the writing again. Perhaps I can identify the culprit. But I can't recognize it at all. Is it from a first year? No…by now, I know each and every one of their handwriting.

Whoever wrote this must have used a charm to keep me from recognizing their handwriting.

Smart.

I pocket it, deciding to return to the room. The floor is almost done.

"Watch your step, Sir," Potter says. "Floor's very slippery."

I slipped in much worse, but I manage to get back to my desk without slipping. Potter sets the mop down. "Is this good enough?"

I survey the room.

I used to love having him in detention because I was sure to have well cleaned cauldrons. And a clean cauldron is a good cauldron.

I nod my head.

He almost slips on his own work trying to escape.

"Got a date?" I ask.

"No," he scoffs at me, closing the door behind him.

But there's still the matter of this…secret admirer.

#

The letter sits on my desk. I debate whether to burn it or try to figure out my admirer's identity so I can squash this infatuation of theirs before it gets out of hand.

It's Sunday and Potter has his team practicing for their next match. I spy them from my office. He's very good. That's no secret. If only he had been in…

I will not go there.

No.

His broom glides through the air. He rises higher, looking for the snitch. He must have spotted it because he dives toward the ground, then up, his broom twirling. His arm reaches out and grabs the snitch before diving down for a landing.

I lean back in my chair watching the miniature figures of the Gryffindor team get in a circle as Potter reviews their plan against Ravenclaw next game.

I need to calm down. Fantasizing about Potter isn't going to help matters. Still, scenario after scenario pours in and out of my head.

However, reality is harsh.

The fantasies say I can have him, all of him, in every way.

The reality is I'm not allowed to even touch him or speak to him in a way that is not platonic.

Fuck my life.

The Gryffindor team goes to the locker rooms. My attention goes back to the letter from the admirer. I throw it into the fire. I'll probably get another letter if they're as serious as they seem to be.

If not, then I won't get another letter.

Hopefully it will be the latter.

I want to scream from the frustration alone.

Before I go to get something to eat, another owl arrives at my office and I take the letter from it, ripping it open.

_My last letter was awful! I decided to try again, Professor._

_I love you. I can't explain why or how or when. I wish I could, but I'm still scared and I'm afraid if I do you might find me out. I'm not quite ready for that. _

_Professor Snape, I know I'm not the best or your favorite, but lately I have been going mad with thoughts of you. To be honest, I am still scared. I'm scared because I'm afraid of you. I am in awe of you. You who are so strong…you give me hope and strength. _

_You are my inspiration and you always have been, despite your cruelty. I am so madly in love with you every bit of me hurts. _

_I want nothing else. I never wanted anything so badly._

_Professor Snape, I love you._

_~SA_

Well this is anything but good.

It's already bad enough I have to deal with my feelings for Potter. I haven't the energy for everything I do already and some.

I set the letter down and wave my wand over it, waiting to see if the charm will break. It doesn't. Whoever my admirer is, he or she chose a high level spell. So he or she is smart. I'm impressed.

I try another spell more powerful than the last.

I let a few minutes pass for the charm to wear off before I look at it again.

The letter has become a pile of ash.

I sneer at it. They're much smarter than I thought.

I lean back in my chair, staring at the ashes. Is there a way to restore it?

I decide to not even try.

I stand and go to the kitchens to get something to eat. I pass by the Gryffindor team, laughing and joking as they return to their house. I glare at them and they pass me by without looking at me again. I watch them go, my gaze on Potter's back.

He looks back at me over his shoulder.

I turn away, almost snapping my neck as I do, and stride down the hall.

"Professor Snape!" he calls after me. I don't stop, but pick up pace. "Wait up!" He catches up. "Is something bothering you?"

"The only thing bothering me," I cross my arms, "is my growling stomach, Potter. Get out of my way."

He steps aside and follows.

"Will you go back to your house?"

"I'm hungry to. We're heading to the same place, so we might as well go together. Right?"

"Potter…"

"What? It's not like we haven't eaten together in the kitchens before."

"You were eating. I was getting some tea," I growl, "Hardly what I'd call eating together."

"Well, then, what's the harm? Do you want to eat with me or not?"

I look at him and sigh.

"Might as well," I say, "as we are going to the same place."

Potter smiles. "Thought so."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Potter enters first and I follow.

"Harry Potter!" One house elf shouts, latching onto Harry's leg.

"Hey, Dobby."

"The usual, Harry Potter sir?"

"Sure and Dobby, I told you to just call me Harry."

Dobby shook his head, his ears slapping his cheeks. "Oh no, Sir! That would be too much for Dobby!"

Harry shrugged at me.

"What would Master Snape like?" another elf asked me. I request a chicken breast and sit at the table. Potter sits across from me.

"Chicken?"

"Why so curious? It's food."

"No, I kind of thought you feasted on human blood or something. A lot of people think you're a vampire. You know, with the billowing robes and all the black and the pale skin."

I smirk. "That's still going around?"

"Still?"

"It was a popular rumor about me back at school that I was a vampire or a dhampir."

"What's a dhampir?"

"You know what a half-giant is?"

"Yes."

"A dhampir is the same as a half-giant except one parent was a vampire."

"Like Blade."

I nod. "Exactly like Blade. Sadly, I am neither. I just so happen to be a recluse and when you're down in the dungeons so long and rarely have the time to go out or even the desire at times, you tend to be pale. Pomfrey keeps harping on me about it, forcing vitamin D supplements down my throat."

Potter sticks his tongue out, making a face.

"At this point it's pretty much impossible to go outside without risking getting sunburned or freckling."

He shakes his head. "No. No!"

"So with that in mind—"

"Stay inside! Or wear sunscreen!"

"Potter, settle down. You're embarrassing yourself."

"Who's going to see? It's just you, me, and a bunch of house elves."

I shake my head. A plate with two sandwich halves and chips are placed in front of him alongside a bottle of butterbeer.

He doesn't touch them. Is he actually _daring_ to be courteous? I'm sure he'd have dove into it by now. "Potter, eat."

"But that'd be rude."

"I'm telling you it is fine—See." A roast chicken breast and salad slid onto the table with a glass of water.

He picks up a sandwich half. "It still would have been rude not to wait."

"I doubt you learned that from—"

"Hermione."

"Ah."

"No. The Weasley's are great but they're way too chaotic."

Seven children, six being boys, whacky father, temperamental mother…yeah, I can imagine the chaos without even trying.

"Try teaching all of them."

"What?!"

"Bill Weasley was one of my many first year students my first year teaching."

"Well…you're down to the last two. How does that make you feel?"

I glare at him, stabbing my chicken with a fork. "Shut up."

#

I pound on the door of Albus' office.

"Come in."

I open, striding inside. "Albus, I c—"

Potter is standing over Albus' pensieve. Did he notice I addressed Albus casually? I try not to do so in front of students.

"Harry," Albus said, patting his shoulder, "we'll continue again later, shall we?"

"Yes, Sir," he said, heading out.

The door closes.

"What was that?"

"Private lessons."

"Then why am I teaching him occlumency if you are doing the same?"

"I'm teaching…history. Occlumency is your subject with Harry alone."

"History?"

"Is there a reason you've come, Severus? Or were you intending to try weeding out of teaching occlumency again?"

"I can't teach him."

"He's not unteachable Severus."

"That's not it."

"Then why?" Albus crosses his arms, his eyebrows nearly pressed together. "What is bothering you so much? You look quite troubled."

I swallow. "I don't know where to begin with what's wrong. It's not even his fault. I love him."

"Well, that's different. Unexpected, but not entirely—"

"No. Albus, I'm _in love _with him."

His eyebrows shoot to his hairline. "Oh."

"I can't teach him."

"You can."

"I can't. Not anymore. In a regular classroom? Yes. But privately? No."

Albus took a seat behind his desk. I sit in one of the chairs facing him. "To be honest, I suspected you might have since sometime last year," he admitted. "When did you realize yourself?"

"About a week and a half ago."

"Huh." A twinkle appeared in his eye. "Interesting."

"Don't you dare do whatever it is your thinking of," I hiss.

"Why not? He'll be an adult soon."

Oh, Hell. "Albus, that is beside the point. He's still underage and he's still a student."

"Not for much longer."

"Blast it, you old fart! Do you find this amusing?!"

He smiled, the twinkle intensifying. "Actually, I do. It would be _most amusing_ to see how it all plays out."

I know he has a love for the dramatic, but to completely disregard common sense like this for the sake of a little drama is a madness I thought he'd recognize to be madness!

Apparently, I've underestimated how much of a nutcase he really is.

"My advice," he said, entwining his fingers together hand resting them on the desk. "Is that you tell Harry how you feel about him."

And I can name exactly…one hundred seventy-two point five very good reasons not to. To list all those reasons would be more tedious than they should.

"The lemon drops have addled your brain. What are they filled with? Speed? Crack? Belladonna? Albus, telling him would be bad. Very bad. I can name several people who, unlike you, would have strung me up by my toes by now. My pinkie toes, in fact."

"Then it is good you came to me first, is it?"

"Albus, take this off my hands. I am going insane and I don't know if I'll be able to hold myself together if I have to keep going on—"

"But you haven't."

"I realized over a week ago that I love Potter!" I stand and pace the room. "Aren't you worried I could attack him? I might. I am telling you so that you can get him away from me. You're his guardian! Do something for the love of Merlin!"

"I don't think you will, Severus. I understand it's painful, but if you're really that afraid of what you might do to him, then I am convinced that you will do nothing that will harm him."

I stop pacing, letting my arms hang at my sides and my tight facial features relax into a slack-jawed look.

"I'm a death eater."

Albus is silent. He blinks at me and I stare at him.

"Not at heart. You've never truly been a death eater," he says quietly. I almost can't hear him. "Not ever since I've known you. You are smart and cunning. Ambitious and driven. Once you put your mind to something you stick with it. You always have. You know your limits and you don't cross the line. I am glad you had the courage to come tell me rather than shoulder this alone. I'm not worried about what feelings you harbor for Harry. I am, however, worried that Voldemort may discover it. I find that to be something much more worrisome."

I sit down again.

If Voldemort were to find out, I'll be killed, deemed a traitor to him and the Death Eaters.

"Will you be able to continue your work as a spy knowing that?"

I don't answer immediately. "Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"You need someone in his circle. I have not let you down yet. I have no intention of letting you down. If my feelings for the boy are discovered, then they are discovered and I am willing to pay the price whatever it is."

I stand, unnerved with seeing Albus cry. He's an emotional bloke. However, I am not and tend to be very uncomfortable in such moments.

"Good night, Albus."

"Good night."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Potter, a word," I shout above the rustling of bags. He looks at me and says something to his friends. They nod. Weasley claps his shoulder and Granger hugs him.

In two minutes, the room is empty. Potter steps up to the desk. "You wanted to talk, Sir?"

"Yes," I say, clearing my throat of whatever makes my voice feel thick and stuck. "I wanted to ask how your…practice is going."

"Good. I feel loads better than I thought I would."

"Good to know."

I readjust my position, crossing my arms and leaning into the back of my chair, so he wouldn't notice my hands shaking as violently as they are.

"Is that all?"

I fight to gather my composure. Potter blinks at me, tilting his head to the side.

"Yes." I say. "You can go."

Potter blinks again, confused. He leaves.

I relax, closing my eyes.

Tell him. Don't tell him. What is the difference? It won't change anything. He still hates me, even if we are able to be cordial once in a while.

I haven't been able to tease him as I used to. Which is probably a good thing, but…

Fuck.

I put my head in my hands.

What will I do in the hour before my next class?

The door bangs open, startling me. Potter strides inside and kisses me before leaving again, his face burning bright red.

I blink, confused.

That didn't just happen. Did it?

I laugh at myself.

My imagination is starting to get out of control. It seemed so real.

#

_I thought—I hoped—that my feelings for you would go away with time. Instead, they keep getting stronger, Professor. Stronger and stronger and I'm getting to the point where I can barely sleep. My heart is broken. I know you don't love me, but I'm going insane. I love you…_

I toss the letter in the fire before I read on.

I'm too wrapped up in my own unrequited love to be dealing with a secret admirer I really wish would get their act together and leave me alone, thank you very much.

I return to my desk and focus on grading this paper.

I wonder what Potter does at this point in his day. Homework, most likely. Hopefully.

I can't get that vivid fantasy out of my head. I can feel traces of his rather hot lips on mine, as though it had really happened…which is ridiculous. It couldn't have happened.

As far as I know, if Potter is in love with anyone, it would be the Weasley girl or Granger.

Not me. Why should it be me?

One scroll is done. I set it aside with other completed assignments before moving onto the next one.

Maybe I should consider getting an assistant to do this work for me. I hate it enough as it is.

I pick up the next scroll.

Potter's handwriting stares up at me. It's messy, semi-illegible, but could be worse.

I dip my quill in the inkwell and begin, the quill hovering over the parchment, waiting for me to find a mistake to make note of.

#

I looked at the clock, which tells me that Potter is late.

By a whole hour.

I watch the door. Maybe…

No. He fully intends to skip our session today. I stand and open the door, heading to Gryffindor Tower. My one intent: to wring his neck.

I mutter threats including but not limited to laceration, evisceration, and incineration. I will figure it out. Trust me. I can and I will.

Potter has just stepped out of his house, head downcast.

"Potter!" I shout.

His head snaps up. Potter turns back around to the portrait, but before he can say his password and escape inside, I seize his collar and lift him off the ground, pinning him against the wall.

"Would you like to tell me what you deemed more important than occlumency and forgot to inform me?"

He bowed his head, refusing to look at me, let alone answer.

I set him down. "Why didn't you come?" I ask again in a calmer tone.

He still doesn't answer.

I don't know how much more I can take. I suppose my resolve is just too weak.

I tilt his head up and kiss him.

I wait for him to struggle. I anticipate him to kick, bite, hit, anything.

I did not expect the kiss to be returned. I lift him in my arms and his wrap around my neck. The kiss breaks, but I can't let him go. He hides his face in my shoulder.

"I thought you rejected me, so I didn't want to go. I thought you hated me, so…"

So…two days ago…

I laugh. "I haven't hated you for a long time. I thought _you_ hated _me_. You even said you did."

His hold around me tightens. "I'm sorry. I was angry that day, so I just said the worst thing that came to my mind. But it hurt to even say it because it's not true. Professor, I love you. I'm in love with you."

Ah. The old fart knew.

"I love you too, Harry."

He brings his head up to look at me. His eyes are wide with shock. "But you're always yelling at me and berating me for something."

I shrugged. "I enjoyed making you angry. I didn't realize why until quite recently. I admit now it was immature of me."

He frowned. "How long?"

"Since your fourth year," I admit. "Last year was particularly fun."

"It was not! You share your head with a sociopathic wizard for a year and tell me how fun it is."

I kiss him again. "I'll pass on that dare. Not because I don't think I could do it but because I'd rather not."

"Coward," he accused.

"Being sensible isn't cowardly," I snap, glaring back. He kisses me. "What are you doing?"

"Whatever I like," he grins. "Besides, you kissed me too."

I can't exactly refute that.

I set him down and he releases me. I'm cold without his touch.

What now?

"Can—may I come down to your office?" He asks.

"You may."

I turn on my heel and he walks beside me.

I don't know what's going to happen next. I don't know if this relationship is going to survive, but I do know that right now, there isn't anyone else I'd rather be with.

_FIN_


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